POV’s Tate
I nodded, wrapping my arms tightly around myself.
The memory blurred here, as he’d gripped his skates in one hand, leading me through the woods. As I relived the memory, time became warped.
I vaguely recalled entering a warm home. A kind woman with worry etched into her face as we appeared at her door. Me being invited in and given a change of clothes. A green sweatshirt that I’d worn home and forgotten to return. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley is playing on a record player. A long conversation around a small kitchen table. My phone is ringing. My mother asked where I’d gone. The walk home, a bag holding my still-drying clothes inside.
The memory began twisting and turning before it shifted into something else. Another dream, I realized.
Right, I was asleep
